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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 2 years ago

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Trials and Defibrillations (3)

Jonathan was not sure how he had unknowingly adopted a child, for he was not sure he had even been nice to the child and therefore it should not have imprinted on him…

No, wait, now that he thought about it being purposefully aggressive with small animals actually made them form more of an attachment. Fuck. He’d made a mistake! His fatherly hormones were too hard for her to ignore!

This was all just a much longer way of saying: what the fuck?

Actually, he much preferred the short version.

“What the fuck?”

For just a moment, he got to see a tiny scrap of fear on her face for the first time. A slight widening of the eyes. A moment where her lips pressed together a little. A twitch of her nose.

This confirmed three things for him:

One, that she actually could feel fear.

Two, that she knew that she wasn’t supposed to be there.

Three, that she hadn’t expected him to finish his lunch break as quickly as he had, suggesting that she might have known his schedule.

But then the expression was gone, replaced by a casual smile so quickly that he almost thought he had imagined it. She looked up from where she was leaning far too close to a test tube he had set over a Bunsen burner. “Yeah?”

He tossed his work bag aside, opting to ignore the many files that went scattering across the floor for the time being (though that was very dangerous as many of them were chemical formulas and shouldn’t be out of order and maybe he should have cared, actually –) because he had a much more important thing he needed to worry about:

“How did you get in here?!”

She pointed to the door he had just come through.

“That is not what I meant and you know it!”

She drew back, lazy fingers turning down the heat on the burner. The faint red glow of overheating glass dimmed, and Jonathan noticed, perhaps a bit late, perhaps only because of the slight change, that the beaker had been bubbling just a little too much.

Whoops.

“Well, what do you mean, then?” She asked, tilting her head to the side innocently. And it seemed real. But there was something in the crinkle in her eyes that put him off. Her eyes gleamed with amusement, as if she was merely toying with him. The prick.

“I mean that this place is supposed to be a secret,” he hissed.

“Oh,” Marinette said, her hands coming to rest upon her hips. “Well, it’s not the best-kept one, if I’m going to be honest with you.”

He sputtered. “HOW?! It’s an abandoned warehouse!”

“Yeah. It’s an abandoned warehouse. Has it ever occurred to you guys to try and mix things up once and a while? I mean, really, all Batman has to do is monitor all of the abandoned warehouses, the carnivals, the sewers, and maybe a couple of clinics.”

“... that’s a lot of places to monitor.”

“Not with all of today’s technology,” she said, resting her chin in her hand, smiling dreamily. “I mean, motion sensors, cameras with perfect audio and sound, bugs, bugs that look like actual bugs, microchips –.”

“Ugh, don’t tell me you’re a Batman stan,” Jonathan said, almost begging.

Marinette snapped out of it enough to give him a mildly offended look. “I haven’t turned you in yet, have I?”

A good point, he supposed. If she had liked Batman more – or if she was, at least, neutral on the both of them – then she probably would have tipped him off that Jonathan was here.

(Not that he had any confirmation that the girl hadn’t and that the bat wasn’t on his way, Jonathan supposed, but he doubted she would have come here in person if that were the case. She had to have known that Jonathan could have come back sooner than expected, and why risk it? Sure, she had been weirdly calm about being threatened, but he hadn’t taken her for being actively suicidal. Just indifferent.)

But that in itself was a little strange. Why hadn’t she called for Batman? Even if she wasn’t scared of dying, wasn’t scared of him, she had seemed to be a good person. She had healed him, had asked for basically nothing in return. Said that she simply couldn’t sit by and let him die alone. Why, then, was she not turning him in?

Jonathan leaned back against a worktable. “You don’t like Batman?”

But, even as he asked it, he knew this wasn’t quite it.

She didn’t seem to mind Batman, had even sung his praises, which was strange. Jonathan would have been less shocked if she had a clear disdain for the man. The typical he didn’t save XYZ person and now I hate him or he’s just as bad as the Rogues bullshit that Jonathan had never understood but had seen often enough to recognize wasn’t there. She wasn’t that specific brand of insane – because, contrary to popular belief, Jonathan was very aware of the fact that most sane people disagreed with him. Not because he was insane, but because most sane people were boring. She was not boring, and he had already established that she was some brand of fucked up. Just… not the kind that hated Batman. This was different. It seemed as if she simply… liked Jonathan (and, perhaps, the rest of the Rogues) more.

… oh, holy shit, did he have a groupie now? Like Joker and his weird followers? He wasn’t ready for that!

Nor did he have the Cult Leader Charisma for that. Wait a minute.

He narrowed his eyes at her. She didn’t make sense.

He wanted to pick her apart and figure out what actually made her tick.

He was a psychologist as well as a chemist after all. How could he not be interested? She was a little anomaly that had been dropped off at his metaphorical doorstep. And then said anomaly had walked right into his literal abandoned warehouse. Which, really, meant it was fair game to study.

”I don’t dislike him,” she confirmed his thoughts, speaking slowly, as if she were mulling it all over carefully so as to not steer him wrong. As if she knew that he was studying her. But surely she would mind if she knew he was, right? Probably. Maybe not. Fucking hell, this entire situation was so strange. “I… respect him for all of the scientific discoveries he’s made...”

He scoffed. He felt the strange need to inform her that, “I’ve come up with more.”

“I agree,” she said easily. “It’s much easier to come up with a solution to a problem than to create it.”

And there it was. Something in the way she’d said it, in the way her eyes had gleamed when looking at the chemicals bubbling over the burner, in the way she’d talked about Batman’s technology. It all clicked together to form an answer that should have been obvious, but had been obscured by the… everything about her.

She was simply fascinated by the act of creation, no matter the consequences.

It was… not too different from how Jonathan had been, back when he’d started out. Obsessed with figuring out all of the inner workings of the human mind, frustrated by the APA’s weird necessity to make sure that the subjects of experiments wouldn’t be harmed, and willing to do anything if it gave him the answers he had so desperately wanted.

Too similar, perhaps.

He had thought that she might have known his schedule…

“Why are you here?”

She hummed lightly, as if seriously considering the question. A lie, because she then lifted a lazy finger to point at the test tube she had been looking at before he’d gotten back from lunch. “Curious.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not taking on any protegees.”

“I never said you were,” she said, smiling.

He narrowed his eyes at her. That did not sound like someone that understood that Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, worked alone. And not in the way Batman worked alone with like five people, he actually worked alone. “Which means you have no reason to be here.”

She tipped her head from side to side, thinking. “I disagree.”

“You can’t just –!” Jonathan did not know what to say to that. Is there anything you can say to that? Scientists (namely him) point to no. “This is my laboratory!”

“I feel like we’ve already established that.”

He threw his hands up in frustration. Great. Sure. This was fine.

Except, no it wasn’t, because he had another problem on his hands.

The door to Jonathan’s laboratory opened. Again. It was just Riddler, leaning heavily on his signature question mark cane, holding a hand to a cut on his leg as if that would stop it from bubbling with a horrible mix of blood and yellow puss, and it wasn’t a huge problem that he was there because Jonathan actually rather liked the guy in small doses… but, at the same time, Jonathan hadn’t actually told his fellow Rogues where he was staying so how the fuck had he found him?

Maybe Marinette was right. No more abandoned warehouses. People were finding him way too easily.

That would be a simple fix.

The thing with Riddler at the moment, though, would likely be harder to resolve. Because Edward had definitely been poisoned.

“Ugh, Jon, can you hook me up with –?” Edward Nygma began, only to pause when he realized that Jonathan was not, in fact, as alone as he would prefer.

There was a beat of awkward silence.

“Hi, Mr. Riddler,” Marinette waved, smiling brilliantly.

Jonathan pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d make a comment about Marinette’s lack of preservation skills if that hadn’t already been very well established. He really needed to work on that with her.

Wait, no. She needed to work on that with herself.

Haha! No time to think about that! Because, it turns out, springing a random person (however accidentally) on your paranoid coworker will not, in fact, end up going well.

“Who is she?!” Riddler said, pointing the end of his cane at her. The question mark fell away to reveal the barrel of a gun.

Marinette, of course, was unfazed. Though, admittedly, Jonathan probably wouldn’t have been too scared, either. Edward was sweating profusely, struggling to balance most of his weight on his uninjured leg now that he couldn't lean on his cane for support. Not exactly the most terrifying sight.

Still a deadly one, though. So, really, testing the man was not a good idea.

“Ed, you need antidote,” Jonathan tried to diffuse the situation.

Marinette did no such thing. She tilted her head to the side. “How do you shoot that thing? I don’t see a trigger anywhere. Is there a button I can’t see?”

It was like she had triggered his persona, because the moment the words left her mouth, the limping gait and pained expression and concern all left Edward in an instant. He smiled cockily, an eyebrow tugging upwards in a clear challenge. He rested his free hand on his hip, as if his hunched posture were merely mocking and infantilizing, and he angled his face so the sweat glistened in the light like glittery makeup.

“You really want to know?” He threatened.

Marinette was still unaffected.

“Yes.”

Edward… didn’t seem to expect that. He opened his mouth but, for once, he was speechless. He looked at Jonathan. “Is there something wrong with her?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Jonathan said, nodding fervently.

“Rude,” she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Especially considering there’s so much more wrong with you, Mr. Riddler. I mean, look at you, you’re all poisoned and going to die because you insist on continuing to move around.”

Edward looked… less than happy to hear this from her. His grip tightened on his cane.

Good, he had realized the graveness of his situation. They should deal with –.

“Those things aren’t at all related!”

Okay. Apparently not.

Jonathan groaned. “Edward, can we please concentrate on the poison that has entered your bloodstream?”

Edward honest to god pouted. “Fine.”

“Thank you –.”

“But you agree they weren’t related, right?”

Jonathan is the only person with a functioning brain in this damned city.

Or not. Marinette leaned closer to inspect the wound, her eyes gleaming. “Ooooh, that looks bad. At least it’s not above your heart. Still. You’d be lucky if the poison hasn’t entered your bloodstream yet.”

Right. She was some kind of science major with a shocking amount of knowledge about first aid. This was one of the few things that he knew for sure about her.

“Unless...”

She reached out a hand as if to poke Edward’s leg, only to get swatted away.

Great, now Jonathan had to deal with two people who were pouting like squabbling children.

“Jonathan, get the weird child away from my leg.”

She groaned. “I just want to see whether you followed that stupid advice people keep giving about tying off things like venomous snake bites. Like, I guess if you have no choice, it’ll work in a pinch, but it pretty much guarantees amputation.”

Riddler crossed his arms over his chest like a petulant toddler. Maybe it was redundant to compare him to a child again, but also, maybe, he should stop acting like a child. Because he sure did sound like a whining baby when he said, “I’m not stupid.”

“Debatable. Stop. Fucking. Moving. Unless you want to die, in which case, I’ve gotta go because my dickhead roommate is an EMT and if he sees me here he’s gonna be so pissed.”

“Your roommate doesn’t want you to interact with Rogues?” Jonathan said, brightening, because he might have just solved the problem that was having Marinette sneaking into his base constantly.

She narrowed her eyes at him, clearly aware of the evil thoughts swirling around in Jonathan’s brain. “Do you want me to give this bitch first aid while you work on the antidote or not?”

Jonathan and Marinette stared each other down for just a few moments more.

Before he sighed and nodded, making a vague motion for her to get on with it. She seemed to know what she was doing, at least, and it would make things go far faster this way.

“I’m not a bitch,” Edward mumbled irritably.

With the two of them working together, it didn’t take long for Edward to get treated. Jonathan got to take a couple of vials of blood and then fuck off further into the lab, which was awesome for him. Maybe he should feel bad about making Marinette deal with Edward all on her own for an extended period of time (a fate that was truly worse than death), but she had insisted so, really, she couldn’t get mad at him.

And, to her credit, she actually did seem to be good at dealing with things like this. Blood tests were a mind-numbing process that mostly involved dropping tiny droplets of blood into a series of Petri dishes and then waiting for something to happen, so Jonathan was happy to concentrate on anything else. Like Marinette and Edward arguing because Edward would neither pull his pants down nor let her rip them to try and get at the wound, which led to Marinette calling Edward a ‘wannabe Jeopardy host’ and him retorting that she was a ‘parasocial stannie’. And like Marinette and Edward having a fistfight despite being dangerously near a bunch of chemicals and the fact that Marinette had been complaining for the prior five minutes about Edward moving, only to get into a fight immediately. And like watching Marinette actually win and stand over Edward with her arms up like a pro wrestler that was about to get awarded The Big Shiny Belt ThingTM (Jonathan was not a sports guy, don’t laugh at him) while Edward groaned about his likely concussion and very real disadvantage known as being poisoned. Marinette ignored this in favor of cleaning the wound out and lightly wrapping it in gauze.

All in all, a very successful interaction with Edward Nygma.

And, once the antidote had been administered, Edward was pretty much back to his usual, annoying self. Not concussed, unfortunately, so they had to deal with him in all of his ‘glory’. Which included but was not limited to: insisting that they Grubhub McDonalds because he wanted fries and nothing else; swiping Jonathan’s phone off of the table to use his account so he wouldn’t have to pay a cent; and insisting that they all had to try a weird purple drink because it ‘has to be terrible’, as if that was some kind of plus side.

And it was all normal.

Except for one thing.

Edward pulled back the gauze on his leg to see whether he would have to take proper antibiotics to deal with an infection. But then he did something he never did:

He went quiet.

He looked up at Marinette, something calculating dancing behind his eyes.

“The cut wasn’t this small before.”

A glance down showed that this was true. Beyond that, the area around it was just a little redder than it probably should have been, even considering the recent poisoning, as if an abundance of blood cells had simply appeared out of thin air just for the sake of fighting off an infection before it had formed. It was a marginal difference, not something someone would notice normally. Not unless they were used to looking at wounds from poison-laced daggers, which the Rogues absolutely were.

“It just looked a lot worse earlier,” Marinette said, shrugging. “A mix of panic, blood loss, and wooziness from poisoning can make things appear worse than they are. And, by the time you got here, you'd been bleeding for a while.”

Edward’s eyes narrowed at her. “You’re a good liar, but your pupils gave you away.”

Something flickered across her face, but Jonathan didn’t get much time to analyze it before it was back to that pleasant little smile she had adopted ever since she had successfully stolen a couple of Edward’s fries without him noticing. “Excuse me?”

Edward, however, had been watching her, and didn’t miss a thing. “Your pupils dilated, so you lied.”

She snorted. “Or I got turned on. Or some drugs are kicking in. Or I’m scared. Or I think your face is just that ugly. Or you’re concussed and seeing things. Point is, that means nothing.”

“It probably does mean something that you’re denying it so profusely, though,” Jonathan said.

She turned to glare at him. “Who’s fucking side are you on?”

“The correct one.”

She ground her teeth together so hard that Jonathan swore he could hear one of them crack.

And then, finally, she leaned back, an annoyed expression creeping onto her face and then deciding that it was there to stay. “Damn, I thought I’d gotten away with it when I healed Jonathan.”

She flicked her wrist vaguely towards Edward, and the man gave a quiet gasp. His eyes fell to his leg, and Jonathan followed his gaze to find that the cut had completely disappeared.

“What the fuck?!”

“Bitch, why didn’t you just do that before?!”

But when they both looked up to ask her all of the questions that were practically bursting out of them, she was gone.

It was quiet for a few moments.

Edward scowled. “Man, I really don’t like her.”

+++++

Up next: The batfamily is paranoid and Adrien avoids all contingencies

Trials and defibrillations masterlist

#maribat #trials and defibrillations #mlbxdc #mlxdc

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wheredostarsgowhenyoudie · 1 month ago

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Friendly reminder to everyone to leave kudos and comments to a fic you've read and enjoyed (even and especially for your nth time reading it). The message will go straight into the author's heart regardless if it's been posted ages ago or just seconds ago. :) How is this for a new year's resolution?

Happy writers = greater chances of more fics. So let's make one another happy yeah.

not to be "comment on fanfic even if they are oooold"

But I just read a pretty good fic published in 2014-2015 (you know, roughly TEN YEARS AGO) and I was like, damn this is so cool, I have to leave a comment, even if you know, they probably wont see it...

The author replied less than an hour later.

#act of kindness #appreciation to writers #writers on tumblr #fanfiction #ao3 #how to make the fandom a better place #fandoms #irondad #maribat #ml #mlb #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #avengers #mcu #mlxdc #batman #irondad & spiderson

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porcelana-r0ta · 10 months ago

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I know the respective fandoms of DC and Miraculous Ladybug have a certain disdain for MLxDC fics but I think there's a potential for fics where Luka leaves Paris and just keeps traveling to different US cities because he keeps figuring out secret identities and he's just this 15 year old kid growing increasingly frustrated and exasperated at how badly everyone hides their identities and he just has to pretend to be oblivious even tho it's Their Fault for being Bad At Secrets and shouldn't adults be better at this??????

#he goes to central city and he's like ah yes a city with an actual adult hero #surely he will be able to keep his identity a secret #and then that very same day he's at the bank setting up an american bank account and captain cold tries to rob it #and the flash saves the day as he does #and everything's great and dandy and secretive #but then #BUT THEN #he has to go to the police station about some paperwork for his witness statement (idk its fanfic just Write Something yk?)#and some guy laughs in the back of the precinct #and luka is like huh. that sounds like flash's laugh when he laughed at his own cold pun yesterday.#and he looks at the laughing guy and he's like oh hey they have the same jawline too. and same basic build. and god DAMN IT!!!!!!#literally just turning him into wes weston from my own fanfic which like. yeah i like the same concept in different flavors soooo #not a surprise #dcxmlb #dc x mlb #mlbxdc #luka couffaine

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wheredostarsgowhenyoudie · 8 months ago

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Mari: IT'S NOT LIKE I HATE YOU!

Damian: IT'S NOT LIKE I HATE YOU EITHER!

Mari: Oh.

Damian: Oh.

Mari (frowns): Then why-

She watches Damian's face contort in restraint and confusion. He's never been good with feelings, never been good at holding back when he wanted to lash out. But she knew Dick had been teaching him control, and contrary to what most of his family believe, her new friend really has been trying his best at being normal.

Damian: I- I don't know, Marinette. I didn't grow up in a normal family or home for that matter. I was raised an heir to someone who calls himself the demon lord. But you already know my past, and you still accepted me. That means a lot to me. So surely, it should make sense to you that I am extremely protective of the few people in my life who for some unfathomable reason are able to accept me for who I am? Lila Rossi was a dead girl walking the moment she decided she hated you and lied about you. I do not care for her simpering flock that are your classmates and ex-bestfriend. But any threat to you, any attack on you, intentional or not, is an item added to my target list. You are not someone whose pain I can ignore. Not from the moment you pretended to be on a diet, broke your macaroon and shared half with me. And yes, Jon told me you asked him what flavor I liked because you just had to add your lucky guardian power to it so that it alleviates my agony from being dumped in the Lazarus Pit. I was horrible to you. You didn't have to show me compassion, and to help me, you went out of your way. So you can't blame me, Angel. Total evisceration is the kindness I could offer your enemies.

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editorofeverything · 2 years ago

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Daminette

Is anyone still reading/writing Daminette fics?? It's one of my favorite MLxDC ships and I've been working on a longish fic for a few years now, but my anxiety kept me from posting anything about it until I had a good portion of it written out. I'm getting into separating and editing chapters now, so even if only one person is still reading, I think I'll start posting soon (soon like as soon as I clean up my first five chapters)

Edit: I did the thing! Here's the link!

#daminette #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat #miraculous ladybug #DCU #Batman #Robin #damian wayne #damian wayne al ghul #Damian wayne as Robin #Guardian Marinette #Order of the Guardians #league of assassins #talia al ghul #I literally have one plot point to finish up and then I'm posting

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wheredostarsgowhenyoudie · 8 months ago

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cute haha someone please add baby mari

part of my kid!robins au

#dc #batkids #batman #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #maribat #mlxdc

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jayphoenic · 2 years ago

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Maribat Masterlist 2

The Supreme Masterlist by @icerosecrystal

Masterlist by @neakco

Maribat Series Masterlist by @jinx-jade

Batman Rec Fic by @lurkinglurkerwholurks

Masterlist by @arty-shadow-morningstar

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 1 year ago

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Trials and Defibrillations (4)

Duke squinted suspiciously at the man on the ground below him. You would think that he shouldn’t be squinting at a man in an EMT uniform who was wrapping a shock blanket around someone, kneeling in front of them and talking in a pleasant, kind tone. However, you have not considered that the person he was squinting at was literally the closest thing this world had to the personification of evil.

And, on top of that, he was just kind of an asshole.

Equally heinous crimes.

After what felt like an hour (because it was one), the family was sent to the hospital, and Adrien glanced down at his watch. He waved for his coworkers to go on without him, since his shift was already over, and his house was closer to where they were than the hospital.

Someone promised to give him until the end of the hour so he could get a couple of extra dollars, and Adrien flashed a thumbs up.

Gasp. He was possibly even claiming false overtime! That fiend!

This crime was, admittedly, understandable in this economic environment, but still! A crime!

He dropped down behind him, a vigilante intent on bringing an end to his evildoing ways, and Adrien’s shoulders slowly slumped. He stood there for a moment, visibly deflated, and then he brightened up again, spinning around and clapping his hands together.

“Signal! How awesome of you to show up at my job! I’ve been hard at work, you know, helping out society as a whole –.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were an EMT when I asked about your medical experience?”

“It was funnier not to.”

Duke spluttered. “Really?!”

“I mean, yeah. It’d probably be funnier if I could see more of your face but, you know, c’est la vie.”

Duke had forgotten just how annoying Adrien was. Which was saying a lot. He had thought that the man(?) was irritating even before. He was exceeding expectations. An overachiever.

Wait, no, that is a terrible trait to assign to a god of destruction. Duke has decided that Adrien is actually… not that. Something else. Nailed it.

“Your sense of humor is… interesting,” Duke said, eventually.

“Thanks! It was developed thanks to the years of physical and psychological torture!”

Duke squinted at Adrien’s face. He wasn’t able to tell whether he was joking or not. Mostly because, on top of his signature sunglasses, he was currently wearing a surgical mask. It didn’t leave much to analyze.

Not that he was easy to analyze even when his entire face was shown, considering the near-perpetual cheeriness that he assumed was more due to insanity than actual happiness.

Eventually, he decided to ignore that glaring red flag. Ignoring everything the blond said was generally better for his mental health, anyway.

“I will be taking you to the Batcave so we can run some tests. Are you going to come with me willingly, or do I have to knock you out?”

Adrien snickered. “I don’t think you understand who has more power here. Literally. Like, you couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

Duke grimaced, his mind wandering to the fire that Adrien had walked through like it wasn’t there – actually, worse, the fire seemed to like him, for lack of a better word. It had behaved like a bunch of needy children, pulling at his clothes for attention.

“Don’t remind me.”

“I mean, I can pretend, if you need me to,” Adrien said, surprisingly earnest. “Like, if you want to punch me I’ll fall over and lay there and stuff.”

“… I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

+++

There was a god of destruction in a cave full of bats.

Not the Bats. Duke’s furry family members would not be awake for another few hours. They would not be happy about the ‘security risk’ that was bringing Adrien here, so Duke was determined to get this over with as fast as was physically possible.

Couldn’t get mad at him if they didn’t know he’d done it!

Adrien watched on curiously as Duke toyed with a machine. “Have you guys made lightsabers yet?”

“You know Star Wars?” Duke asked.

He should probably answer the god, because he was a god and if anyone could find a way to kill Duke despite his apparent immortality it was probably him, but the guy had shown himself to not be much of a threat so far. Like, sure, he was terrifying, which was the reason Duke had brought him here in the first place, but there was this… air around him.

He didn’t take things seriously. Which made it hard to take him seriously.

As if to prove his point, Adrien huffed a laugh and waved him off. “Duh. Who hasn’t?”

“Losers,” said Duke, thinking of Damian. Sure, the kid kind of got a pass on account of having his childhood stolen from him by the League, but also no he didn’t.

Adrien nodded, sagely. “Losers,” he agreed. Truly, the years had made him wise.

Finally, Duke finished setting things up. He turned to Adrien.

“Alright, what this device does is shoot water at approximately 60,000 psi –...” The god sent him a blank look. “– really fucking fast. And, since speed, kinda, equals force, this can do a lot of damage.”

“... I’m sorry, we’re talking about water, right?”

“We’re talking about the sharpest thing humans have created up to this point.”

“Like… the thing that goes woosh-woosh?” He made a motion with his hands, like a person riding a wave, trying to get his point across as clearly as possible. “Am I misunderstanding or something? Did you just go insane? I know that happens a lot around me, for some reason, but you seem pretty –.”

Duke pointed the device at a nearby safety railing and turned it on. The water cut through the metal like it was butter.

The boy’s eyes gleamed. He sighed dreamily, looking, for lack of a better word, as if he had fallen in love. “I think I get what she means when she says human inventions are… marvelous.”

Should Duke question who ‘she’ was? Probably.

However, he had more pertinent thoughts, like ew.

“I’d make a joke about leaving you two alone, but I don’t want people to die.”

If possible, the god looked even more delighted by this sentence. “It can kill people? Can I kill someone with it?”

The god of destruction was making fucking grabby hands.

“No.”

“Boo, whore.”

Duke did not know how to respond to that.

And then he realized he didn’t have to. Joyous day!

He turned to point the device at Adrien. “May I try?”

“Oh, sure,” Adrien said.

“Stick your hand out for me? I don’t want to accidentally kill you just because you thought it wouldn’t work.”

He grinned and waved him off as if Duke was talking about a mosquito bite instead of murder. “Ah, don’t worry, I’ve lived long enough, I think.”

“Can’t you take anything seriously?” Duke almost begged.

The way amusement played across the god’s lips did not bode well for that particular hope. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you are quite possibly a world-ending threat, maybe?”

Adrien looked offended. “I would never!”

“Buddy, your title is literally ‘the god of destruction’.”

Adrien opened his mouth, and then it snapped closed. He had been swayed by Duke’s argument, it seemed. Or, at least, he was thinking hard about how he would refute it.

He couldn’t have been thinking that hard, though, because his response was not the kind that felt well thought out and profound:

“But that would be boring.”

Duke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Right. This was the guy that didn’t take anything seriously. Maybe he should just shoot him in the chest, possible risk of homicide be damned.

He decided against it. Instead, he shot the man in the foot.

His shoe tore open.

Adrien didn’t even blink. He merely pouted and pulled the shoe off. His sock was pure white, no blood to be found.

“Man, you owe me a new pair of shoes.”

Duke thought he had bigger problems.

Looks like he was going to get in trouble with his family after all. If he wanted to figure out how to kill this god, it would be good to get the help of people who were far more experienced with gods and contingencies than him.

Like Bruce.

… nah. Nevermind. He’d settle for the other batkids.

He pulled out his phone and got to work hacking their alarms.

+++

Adrien sat in a plastic folding chair, his chin resting on the top of it, watching the bats bicker. His amusement had long since bled out of him as the hours dragged on. Now, save for the unlit cigarette hanging half out his mouth precariously, he looked remarkably like a kid who had been dragged to a party by their mom and was about to make it everyone else’s problem.

You would think an immortal who has lived longer than a person could ever truly conceptualize would be more patient, but apparently not.

“There has to be a way,” said Damian. “I have not yet found a being that could not be killed.”

“Isn’t Wonder Woman indestructible?” Adrien asked.

“No, she is somewhat vulnerable to piercing attacks. I believe it is due to her antagonistic relationship with Ares.”

Adrien made a thoughtful sound, looking very much like he was filing that information away for later.

Duke kicked Damian in the shin. “Don’t tell the God of Destruction how to kill Wonder Woman, please.”

Adrien gave a little huff of annoyance and pulled the cigarette from his mouth, twirling it idly between his fingers. No one knew where they had gotten the cigarette, frankly, Duke had made him empty his pockets before coming in and there was no way any of the bats would give one to him. But this was something they didn’t want to think about right now.

Because there are more important things to think about! Obviously! Not because they’re scared!

Please ignore Tim having a breakdown in the corner.

The god groaned and slumped further in his chair. He didn’t want to be here any more than Tim did.

Admittedly, it was normal not to want to be around people discussing how best to kill you, but Adrien’s problem with the situation clearly wasn’t the discussion itself, but instead how long it was taking.

How could Duke be so certain about another person’s thought process, you may ask?

Well, because Adrien had bemoaned all of this. Several times. At length.

While actively being stabbed by a frustrated Stephanie Brown.

Or, at least, Steph was trying to stab him. It was equivalent to trying to stab a fridge, the knife glancing off of him despite her best efforts. His only concern at the moment was about the state of his shirt.

She, too, must have cared about the holes she was slashing into his clothes, because she gave a high scream of frustration and then tossed the knife into the nearby abyss. No one wants to accidentally disrobe a god, after all.

Do gods have…?

Would it still work…?

Duke doesn’t need to know!

“Maybe it’s only his skin that’s invulnerable,” Jason said.

Out of all of the bats, he was the most relaxed about all of this. Maybe his dying and coming back made him and the God of Destruction kindred spirits.

Or maybe he was just amused by how stressed out everyone was. The chances were about 50/50.

“Like that one Greek myth. If you can get a knife between his teeth you can kill him.”

“Noooo don’t go shoving things down my throat you’re too sexy,” Adrien deadpanned.

“Will it kill you?” said Tim, his tone bordering on desperation.

Adrien raised an eyebrow. The cigarette in his hand began to smoke, flames licking at the paper. Before they could even react to the fucking fire, he shoved the burning lump of chemicals down his throat.

They could do nothing but stare on in horror as he swallowed it.

Okay, well, that answers that.

Another, new cigarette appeared in his hand.

That answers their other question! They are getting so many answers right now! What a win!

Please, if something up there likes him, he is begging that he doesn’t get an answer to the ‘do gods have penises’ question anytime soon. Or ever, if he can help it, but he would take a compromise! He is very agreeable and nice! Do not spring a god’s dick on him anytime soon, please schedule a time and date with him! Thank you!

Duke is going to have a mental breakdown.

Someone needs to distract him with something stupid before that happens because he hasn’t yet scheduled a time and date for a breakdown, either.

“It won’t kill me. It’s just against my boundaries,” Adrien said, as if it made all the sense in the world.

Duke stared at him. He had asked for something to distract himself, he supposed, this one was on him, but that was just… “Why?”

Adrien shrugged. “Unresolved trauma.”

“Oh, if the immortal has unresolved trauma, we’re all doomed,” Steph groaned.

“I mean, I have eternity to figure it out.”

“You’ve already had an inconceivable amount of time to change. At this point, if you haven’t done it already, will you ever?” Tim asked.

Damn. Deep-cutting words from the guy only one step above hyperventilating.

This wasn’t helped when Adrien lopped his arms over the boy’s shoulders from behind, resting his chin atop his head delicately. The touch was light, barely there, Tim didn’t show any kind of strain at trying to keep his weight aloft, and yet...

Everyone jolted. No one had seen the god move.

And there was a clear threat in the way he smiled. He slumped against Tim’s back, dropping his weight onto the boy. And more. Because there was no reason why a man – who was, though much taller than average, but lanky in a starved way – should weigh enough that Tim’s knees began to buckle instantly.

“Do you think that you could ever get over your own death?” Adrien asked.

“I – I thought you couldn’t –.”

“Oh, I am unable to die now. It was not always that way.” Adrien laughed, but he was lacking its usual playfulness. The god had always been so relaxed, unphased, that the genuine coldness hidden beneath his expression froze Duke in place. “Tell me, little human, how do gods come to be?”

Tim fell to his knees, only barely catching himself before he could slam his face into the ground.

Adrien stood over him.

“It happens when someone is destroyed. Every cell systematically broken over and over again until they’re eventually strong enough to withstand it. Every thought, every memory, everything that could have made you human, deleted. I don’t even remember my name – or if I had one at all. You can say it’s worth it, for immortality, but it was not. Nothing is worth that.”

He stepped around Tim. His gaze lifted, to look at the rest of the bats.

He was bored.

And then, a smile abruptly made its way across his face, his face lighting up in that same old amusement. It no longer felt entirely true.

“Anyways!” Adrien said, clapping his hands beside his head. “Guys, if the god of creation couldn’t figure out how to kill me, you sure as hell can’t.”

“There’s another one of you out there?!”

Adrien tipped his head back in a laugh. You wouldn’t think that a laugh could be threatening, but you would be wrong.

“There is! And, between you and me, I’m not the one you should be more scared of.”

+++

Well, that was enough traumatizing events for the night. Duke was taking the god home.

He waved him off from across the street – Adrien had stressed that he didn’t want his roommate to see any of them – and watched as the god started trying to break his own window lock. Why he didn’t just go in the front door was beyond Duke. Maybe he was just incapable of doing anything remotely normal. Maybe he had forgotten his keys somewhere. Maybe he had just seen an excuse to break something and jumped at the opportunity.

God only knows.

Or, at least, this god only knows.

This god does not, however, know what is about to happen to him next.

Hands grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him inside before he had even fully managed to open it. His shriek of surprise could be heard even from across the street. He knocked his head against the window on the way in, the glass rattling in its frame from the sheer force of it all.

… Duke knew that the god couldn’t die, knew it all too well, but he still tuned into the conversation he was having to make sure that his roommate wasn’t about to kill him. Habit, he supposed.

Regardless, the fear was unwarranted, because Adrien was being dragged in for a hug.

The back of his shirt, already ruined by Steph, was bunched up with how tight she held onto him.

He didn’t seem all that surprised by this part, at least, returning her hold without the slightest bit of hesitation.

“Shit, man, I thought – I thought you were kidnapped or something!”

“I was.”

Her mouth dropped open in pure, unadulterated shock and horror.

“You know I can’t be hurt,” Adrien reminded her, smiling in a way that could only ever be seen as fond. It was a soft expression, surprisingly genuine on the god. “I’m fine.”

“That doesn’t matter!”

Aw, that’s kind of cute, Duke thought.

“You know I’m the only one that’s allowed to kill you,” she sniffled.

Nevermind.

“I know, I know. But if they’d found a way to hurt me, I would have reported it back to you as soon as possible!”

“Promise?”

“Of course,” he said.

She was quiet for a few moments before drawing back. “You’re too reckless.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not okay.”

Adrien huffed a laugh.

He finally let her go, craning his neck idly. It was a surprisingly normal, human gesture, and yet… it felt wrong on the god. There was something decidedly fake about it. Like he was doing it more because it was something he saw actual people do, not because his neck genuinely ached. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

“Thank god,” she said immediately, stepping around him with ease, finally giving Duke his first good look at Adrien’s fabled roommate.

Marinette Plethora. A student at the community college in Gotham. One who, by all accounts, didn’t exist. She had a few necessary papers, just enough that her existence wouldn’t be questioned in Gotham (which meant… basically a birth certificate, most places in Gotham did not care in the slightest if you actually existed, so long as you could become a cog in the corporate machine and/or give them money), but other than that she simply was not a real person.

Not that that was all that surprising, considering where they were.

The woman was wearing a green face mask, the rapidly-drying clay coating her skin making it easy to see the tiny wrinkles in her forehead. She wore an oversized shirt (it was clearly Adrien’s, based on the size, but it was anyone’s guess as to whether she had opted for it because she was missing him or because she was being petty over his disappearance) and, hopefully, a set of short-shorts.

She started to walk away, but was soon pulled back towards Adrien, the god giving her a Cheshire-like grin.

“Forgetting something?” he teased.

She gave him a flat look.

Adrien simply continued to grin at her, content, unnaturally still.

After a solid few minutes, she gave in and stood on tip-toes to give him a kiss on the forehead.

“I hate you and everything you stand for,” she grumbled.

He snorted. “I love you, too,” he responded, as if the two sentences were at all the same.

She rolled her eyes and walked over to the window, checking it over with a bored expression. “Thank god I didn’t break this on your giant fucking head, huh?”

Adrien gave a scoff, lifting a hand briefly to flip her off as he headed further into the apartment, assumedly so he could get that shower he wanted.

In the moment where his back was turned, her lips started to tug upwards into a kind of smile.

And then, when her clay mask tugged at her skin with the change in expression, she yelped and immediately started rushing after him. “Wait! Let me shower first! I need to wash this off!”

“Nooooo! You’re gonna take forever! I want some hot water for once!”

“I’m going to break out!”

“Sucks to suck!”

Duke heard the sound of fabric shuffling and someone hitting the floor (Adrien, if the little ‘oof’ sound he made meant anything) and decided he had had enough for the day.

It was getting late. His shift was over. Time for bed.

+++

Up next: :)

Trials and defibrillations masterlist

#trials and defibrillations #maribat #mlbxdc #mlxdc

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wheredostarsgowhenyoudie · 1 month ago

Text

I love this so much hahahah

Double Lives

Damian was certain that his wife was keeping a secret from him.

He trusted her with his life, of course—Marinette had kept a number of things from him in the earlier stages of their relationship, like her experience and trauma in Paris. He knew not to pry, and eventually she opened up. He was glad that some burden was taken off her shoulders.

But this was different. She was deliberately trying not to get caught; she took care to hide her phone from his view, and there were days she'd come home very late. When asked, she'd get irritable but also nervous around him. Damian didn't want to assume things right off the bat, but he did hope she would finally grow comfortable to talk it out with him. And so he resisted using his ‘resources’ to peek into her life—what kind of distrusting partner would he be if he did that?

He knew, too, that he was being awfully hypocritical. He was still yet to sit her down and reveal his vigilante alter ego to her as well as his family's. Damian would swear he planned to rip the bandaid off when they got engaged. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, out of the fear that she'd leave him. As far as he knew, Marinette wanted a normal quiet life after living through the Evil Butterfly Man's reign of terror. Telling her his identity would just put a target on her back, if there wasn't any already after she became a Wayne.

He couldn't imagine his sweet innocent wife exposed to the horrors of vigilantism.

Still, even though he had his own secrets, it felt quite frustrating not to know hers. That was what Damian was thinking one dark night when the door finally opened, signalling her arrival from work.

“Damian?” Her eyes widened. “Why are you still up? You shouldn't have waited for me.”

“It's alright. I couldn't sleep anyways.” And I will be sneaking out for patrol later. He stood up to kiss her cheek—

But froze upon seeing a red mark right at the base of her neck.

Marinette hummed tiredly. “Next time, don't wait for me if you're tired, okay?”

“. . . What's that on your neck?” He dared to ask.

Her hand immediately flew to the spot on her skin. For a split second, her expression changed into a hint of annoyance. “It's—it's . . .” she stammered, “I accidentally hit myself.”

“You hit yourself?”

She nodded meekly.

Damian stared at her for a moment. There was one thing he knew about his wife: she was a bad liar. But she was expert at omitting things, partly because she probably knew he wouldn't interrogate her further. He knew that she was aware it was the vaguest of explanations but she never tried to elaborate.

He mustered out a smile. “Be careful next time.”

She let out a nervous laugh and squeaked out a ‘yes’.

“By the way.” He took a deep breath, “I visited your office this morning.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and your secretary told me you hadn't punched in for the day yet.”

The silence between them was thick.

“Ah . . .” Damian could practically see the gears turning in her head. “That was . . . erm, I had to run an errand before work! Yeah . . .”

“I see. I was hoping to have lunch with you earlier but it seems that you're busy nowadays.”

She cursed in French under her breath.

“I'm really sorry, Damian.” She fidgeted with her fingers. “I'll make time this week. I promise.”

She hurried off to their bedroom, leaving Damian with his thoughts.

He really really didn't want to assume the worst. But his heart was racing and when he looked at the signs, they were clear as day. His mind started to spiral a little, wondering where he could've gone wrong, wondering if he didn't spend enough time on her or if she felt that he wasn't giving enough effort.

But he pushed all those thoughts away and followed her to bed.

***

One Saturday afternoon saw Robin and Superboy in the Watchtower's breakroom, talking about Damian's predicament. He hoped his friend could at least contribute an objective outsider's perspective in his dilemma and encourage him to broach the topic with Marinette.

“She's cheating,” Superboy deadpanned.

“She's—she's not,” he argued back, “Perhaps I am just reading too much into it . . .”

“Um but the hickey? The late night escapades?” Superboy frowned. “I don't know about you, but I don't think there's any other explanation for it.”

Robin bit his tongue. No, it's not possible. He loved Marinette terribly, and he knew—he could feel the same love from her if not more.

His friend sighed, “Look, I know it's hard to believe. Even I don't think M can be . . . unfaithful but you should confront her about it.”

“I can't. I can't face her like that when I am still keeping a secret of my own.”

“Then tell her you're Robin. A secret for a secret, hm?”

Robin didn't even want to think about how messy that conversation would be.

“It's all just about communication,” Superboy continued. “If you're worried she won't accept you, take my mom and dad as an example—”

He stopped talking, indicating that he sensed another presence nearby. Just on cue, a fuming Ladybug stomped into the breakroom, heading straight to one of the refrigerators.

The two men watched as she muttered angrily while looking around for food—Robin could see the clear exhaustion on her tensed figure. The Parisian heroine had joined the Justice League after the Hawkmoth fiasco became public; the heroes were quick to recruit her but not before she voiced out her complaints about the League neglecting her city. Though she hadn't revealed her identity to anyone, she had formed bonds with the other heroes her age, not excluding Robin and Superboy.

Superboy winced when she kicked the fridge door.

Ladybug did a hundred eighty, showing both the fires of hell and sleepless nights in her blue eyes. “You don't happen to have an extra stock of Kryptonite, do you?”

Superboy looked at her warily. “What happened this time?”

“Your dad assigned me to another magic-involved mission!” She tugged at her hair, sitting beside them. “I thought I made it clear I didn't want to be involved in too many missions especially if it's non-miraculous related ones!”

“You could . . . tell him that?”

She shot a sharp glare at them. “You don't think I did? They're insisting it's miraculous related when Constantine hasn't even confirmed anything! Just because Paris was terrorized, it doesn't mean miraculi are going to pop out from everywhere! These missions are affecting my normal life!”

It was a common complaint for heroes who had alternate civilian lives, but Robin was a bit surprised that she was that open about her feelings.

“And—and Batman too!” She pointed a finger at Robin. “I know Monsieur Furry's guilty about the Paris thing and all and me not having a mentor but he keeps checking on my progress after missions liked a damned helicopter parent! “

Before either of them could reply, she continued ranting, “I was going to meet an important client yesterday but they just had to call me in to help with the mission! And then it goes on until freaking midnight! What about my precious sleep?! Then Zatanna accidentally used a spell on me—it hit my neck and now it looks like a hickey!”

Her head dropped onto the table. “How the fuck do I fucking explain that to my husband?!”

Robin and Superboy looked at each other, wide-eyed.

“You—you haven't told your husband that you're a hero?” Superboy asked carefully.

Not lifting up her head, she replied with a muffled voice, “Of course not! I can't do that to him! He's already exposed to enough danger because of his last name! I just can't tell him ‘ hey mon amour so I'm actually that heroine from Paris on top of my emotional PTSD!’”

Robin swallowed. That was Marinette's name for him.

It ticked too many boxes.

He started to subconsciously connect the dots: catching his wife absent at work at the time the magic-wielding team of the JL was away on a mission; Ladybug sharing that she finally linked up messages from her yoyo to her personal phone; his wife coming home late, tired and fatigued from head to toe when all she was supposed to be doing was designing.

“I'm sure he'll come to understand your circumstances,” Superboy consoled.

“He won't.” The heroine sat up, revealing that her eyes were now welling up with tears. “He probably hates me right now because I'm sending the wrong signals. What if he thinks I'm just taking advantage of him for his money? His family already hates me! What if he's filing for a divorce right now?”

Robin felt the nudge from his friend, as if to tell him to do damage control. Superboy abruptly stood up, spouted out an excuse about being called by someone, and left the room to the two of them.

Ladybug sniffed, “Sorry, you probably didn't want to hear all of that.”

“It helps to get your problems off your chest.” Robin awkwardly patted her head. In truth, she was really Marinette, he wanted to pull her into a hug already.

He coughed. “Why—why do you think your husband's family hates you?”

“Oh . . . I don't know, but his father’s always distant. Whenever I'm at a family dinner, they're just very quiet,” she replied sadly. “I know they're good people but I felt like I didn't belong somehow. My husband keeps saying they adore me though.”

Robin wanted to sigh out loud. His father still had his guard up because he believed she was a civilian, hence there was a side of her family they could never show her. It was always quiet due to Alfred's stern lecture about behaving in front of Marinette lest they accidentally spill something they shouldn't.

“It sounds like your husband cares a lot about you,” he told her, “Don't you think he would trust you if you told him the truth?”

“But I can't! I don't know where to begin!” She pursed her lips. “He's always been good to me and he never steps the line even if I'm obviously lying. I just . . . I thought I could tell him before we got married but I was too scared and I didn't want to ruin what we had.”

“But he won't think any differently of you, would he?”

“No . . .”

“Then you have nothing to be afraid of.” He smiled a little. “It may come off as a shock at first but he will accept it in time. You will be stressing yourself out even more if you keep thinking about the worst scenarios.”

She stared at him. “When did you get so wise?”

“Ever since I started thinking about what my wife was doing.”

She tilted her head. “Huh?”

It was unmistakable. Those gleaming blue eyes were Marinette's.

He was such an idiot.

“She keeps coming home late, hides her phone every time I'm near,” he listed, gauging her reaction. “Last night, I found out she hadn't come to her office even when she said she was working, and I caught her with a strange mark on her neck.”

Her eyes slowly widened as she seemed to come to the same realization. The heroine's gloved hands flew up to cover her mouth. “Damian?” she whispered.

He checked if the coast was clear and slowly peeled off his domino mask to show his full face. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you habib –”

He was cut off by her warm lips, her arms winding around his neck. Damian immediately melted into her touch, relieved that they finally divulged their secrets. He wouldn't have to be worried about introducing her to the hero world after all.

He was extremely relieved, in fact, that he hadn't noticed his father and eldest brother stroll into the room.

“ROBIN! Are you cheating on your wife?!”

Robin pulled away from Ladybug, withholding a sigh of exasperation. He put his mask back on and turned around to see Batman looking constipated and Nightwing utterly shocked.

"How could you do that to—to . . ." Nightwing cried out.

"Leave us." He glared.

"Robin—" His father's voice was tinged with disapproval.

"Leave. Us."

Fortunately, the two scurried off. Damian faced his wife, who seemed as flabbergasted. He was worried since it was her identity that was at risk, unless he embraced the unexpected cheating allegations.

"Oh my kwamis," Ladybug said softly, "I called my father-in-law a furry ."

"It's deserved." He rubbed up and down her shoulders. "What do you want to do?"

"Oh um . . ." She ducked her head. "Maybe go home and I'll—I'll explain everything from the beginning."

***

Damian had to recount his life story after his wife shared hers whilst they cuddled in bed. After they talked, he was surprised to learn so many new things about her—he thought he had her memorized already, even before they exchanged vows. At the same time, he was mentally kicking himself for thinking that Marinette was never closely involved in the war against Hawkmoth.

Of course she was Ladybug.

Of course she was a hero.

So while she was spiraling at the number of times she'd unknowingly mocked her in-laws in the suit, he was regretting not telling her the truth sooner. If they'd opened up years ago, he would've stayed by her side during missions, helping her deal with the troubles of having a masked alter egos, and sharing his own experiences with her. A stronger bond would've formed between them, because they both understood the hero's life after all this time.

Not long after, she finally decided she was ready to tell the Waynes who she was. ‘It would do more harm than good if I kept hiding it anyway,’ she reasoned. He did agree, since she was part of the family, both as Ladybug and Marinette. The others would surely be overjoyed (and less overprotective) if they found out that she was a hero. What Damian found strange, however, was Marinette seemed to worry that Bruce's opinion on her would change and he'd become ‘distant’ as Batman as well.

“Remember, Batman is afraid of you,” he had reminded her over and over again.

(And Batman would be ecstatic to discover that Ladybug was his daughter-in-law, but Damian would never tell her that. The caped vigilante had grown fussy over the Parisian heroes as his way of ‘making up’ for the Paris incidents . . . But at the same time, he cowered ever so slightly when Ladybug raised her voice on him. Damian's siblings blamed Ladybug's black hair and blue eyes for triggering the adopt-itis.)

And so Damian and Marinette decided to arrange a family lunch to break the news to everyone. It was then Damian remembered that there was one issue he hadn't resolved yet.

“If you don't tell Marinette today, I'm telling her.” Dick glared at him from across the table.

Damian glanced at his watch. His wife wasn't present yet, and had sent him a message about picking up pastries from Paris first.

“Tt. That would mean revealing our identities, Richard.” He crossed his arms.

“Just because you have the mask on it doesn't mean you can do that to her!” Dick argued. “Does Ladybug even know you're married?! ”

“What did he do to Pixie-pop?” asked Jason.

“He---he—” Dick was once again trembling in anger and disbelief.

“We saw him kissing Ladybug.” It was Bruce who replied. “Damian, I never expected this from you. You will have to talk and apologize to Marinette.”

“You did what?!” Jason stood up so abruptly that the utensils clattered.

“What the fuck?” Tim exclaimed.

Stephanie gasped. “What the hell Damian?”

“Holy shit,” Duke whispered.

Damian could only stare at the entryway of the dining hall, hoping that Marinette would arrive soon. If he was left with his family any longer, they'd be beating him up and disowning him.

“I have . . . a reason,” he said through gritted teeth. He couldn't exactly tell them right off the bat, since Marinette wasn't there yet.

“Open . . . open relationship?” Cass frowned.

Suddenly, a bright light appeared at the ceiling—a portal— and from it, a figure dropped down, much to everyone's shock. Ladybug, unified with the Horse miraculous, grinned at them with an armful of boxes filled with croissants and macarons.

“Ladybug?” Bruce gaped.

“Your daughter-in-law actually.” She lowered the sunglasses, showing her narrowed eyes. “And your worst fucking nightmare.”

“W---What?”

Damian could barely control his laughter, seeing his father frozen.

She detransformed completely and scowled at Bruce. “This is technically your fault, furry old man! If you didn't keep agreeing to send me on those magical missions, I wouldn't be so tired and caused a misunderstanding in the first place.”

Damian didn't have time to shield himself from the eruption of noise on the table. With his wife's theatrical reveal, everyone was in different states of shock. Tim stood up quietly to face a wall with a blank stare, entertaining another existential crisis. Duke choked on the water he was drinking. Jason was crouched on the floor miserably with his hands over his face, perhaps because of the times he complained to Marinette about Ladybug's uptight methods. Dick's jaw was completely unhinged, and he was slapping himself every minute or so. Stephanie passed a hundred dollar bill to Cass.

And Bruce. Poor Bruce was paler than their porcelain plates, speechless and unmoving.

Damian exchanged a wide smile with his wife. He loved her so much.

#daminette #damian wayne #marinette dupein-cheng #when your father in law is bruce wayne #batkids #batfam #ml #mlb #mlxdc #maribat

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